“We’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other for the next little while,” Slade told Hayley Letter to Reader Title Page ACKNOWLEDGMENT PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN Copyright
“We’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other for the next little while,” Slade told Hayley
In your dreams, she said silently
“I’ve got to tell you something that will frighten you. But try not to panic, because it isn’t nearly as bad as it sounds.”
He hesitated, eyeing her, then continued. “We have your son. He was picked up just a few minutes ago, while he was out riding his bike.”
The world froze around her, and her heart froze inside her chest.
“Max is perfectly safe,” he added quickly. “I swear he is. And I promise he’ll stay that way as long as you cooperate.”
She almost couldn’t hear him over the thunder in her head. She’d never felt such terror before, and when she tried to speak, the words caught in her throat.
“I want my son back,” she whispered fiercely. “Right now... Get him back for me!”
“I can’t. Not—”
“What kind of man are you?” Her entire body trembling, she pushed herself out of her chair and stood glaring across the desk at him. “You’re trying to help a convicted felon plan a prison break? You let his men kidnap an innocent child? Are you a monster?”
Dear Reader,
Have you ever found yourself falling madly and passionately in love with a man you knew was totally wrong for you?
That’s what happens to Hayley Morgan in Falling for the Enemy New Orleans lawyer Slade Reeves has a certain je ne sais quoi that starts her heart beating faster the moment she gazes into the deep blue depths of his eyes.
But once she discovers the truth about him, feeling even a twinge of attraction is out of the question.
Still, have you ever tried to stop yourself from falling in love? Especially when you’re constantly thrown together with the man in question? If so, you know it would be easier to stop a tide from turning.
Hayley and Slade’s story is truly one of love against all odds. I hope you enjoy reading about how they manage to find happiness together
Warmest wishes,
Dawn Stewardson
P.S. I invite you to visit my web site at www.superauthors.com
Falling for the Enemy
Dawn Stewardson
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
With special thanks to fellow authors Anne Logan
and Linda Kay West for generously sharing their knowledge of rural Louisiana
PROLOGUE
MR. WILLIAM FITZGERALD, “Billy Fitz” to his friends, rated one of the “executive suites” at the Poquette Correctional Center in Plaquemines Parish, Louisiana. That meant he didn’t have to share. He was the sole occupant of a six-by-eight-foot windowless cell.
Despite his privileged status, every morning when Billy woke up he wished he were anywhere else on earth.
The cell walls were cinder-block gray. The sink and seatless toilet, which occupied one open corner, white. At least, he assumed it was the color they’d been before becoming permanently stained putrid yellowish brown.
The bed was concrete, the mattress a slab of foam. The cell door had a slot where a battered food tray was pushed through at mealtimes.
Inmates from the executive suites didn’t eat in the communal dining room. Prisons like Poquette were filled with meltdowns who figured they could make their reputation by killing someone with a big name. That meant living like a hermit was conducive to Billy’s continued good health.
Five days a week, he was allowed to take a shower while a guard stood outside the shower room. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays he had an hour in a fenced-off section of the exercise yard. Weather permitting.
He’d been in Poquette for three weeks that seemed like three years. The place was intolerable. Worse for him than for most because of what he was accustomed to—an old mansion in the elegant Garden District of New Orleans, where dinner was served on bone china in his enormous dining room.
In his cell at Poquette, he ate off a dented tin plate with a plastic spoon. No forks allowed.
Billy was fifty-eight years old, and came from long-lived Irish stock. With any luck, he’d see the far side of ninety. He had no intention, though, of seeing it from a prison cell. In fact, he had no intention of seeing fifty-nine from behind bars.
After being convicted on three separate counts of manslaughter, he didn’t have a hope in hell of his appeal going anywhere. But there were other ways for him to regain his freedom, and as head of New Orleans’ “Irish Mafia,” he had both the money and connections to get what he wanted.
All he needed was a little help from his friends. And from Dr. Hayley Morgan.
Until now, he’d never had much use for psychologists. But he certainly had use for